


Homecoming

by Emerald_Leaves



Series: Of Fathers and Sons [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Reconciliation, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:18:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3469037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald_Leaves/pseuds/Emerald_Leaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas returns home after the destruction of the Ring of Power, but he fears what his father, the Elvenking, will do once his wayward son has returned.<br/>Part of the Of Fathers and Sons collection. Follows after The Mighty King of Mirkwood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

The closer he got to the large forest of the north, the more apprehensive Legolas became. Even from his current distance, he could see smoke rising up in the south, a testament to the battle that had raged at Dol Guldur while he had been away on his quest with the Fellowship. A stab of guilt threatened to unseat the lone elf as he rode on, and he couldn’t help the feeling of sorrow that washed over him. Sorrow for the forest that had been so polluted and destroyed in the dark battle, sorrow for the wildlife that had been killed and scattered, and most of all, sorrow for his kin and all the lives not meant to be lost that had passed. 

It had only been a month since the defeat of Sauron, but it strangely felt longer. And it seemed an eternity since last he was home. Strange indeed, as Legolas had never really stopped to consider time. He’d never felt is as keenly as he had over the past year. And now as he rode homeward, he couldn’t help realize just how much things could change in that so very short span of time. Especially when he was not there to see it. 

Sighing, feeling more depressed the closer he rode to the forest, the young elf tried his best to rally his spirits. He had a lot to be thankful for, after all. The war was over. Over! The war his forbearers had suffered and bled for was finally at an end. There was a king on the Throne of Gondor. The Black Lands were all but empty and destroyed. Arda was slowly turning towards peace. And while on his quest, he had come away with making many dear and wonderful new friends―even with a dwarf! 

Smiling at the thought of Gimli, Legolas wondered if his friend was still in Gondor or if he, too, had felt the calling of home. Originally they had decided to visit the Glittering Caves and Fangorn Forest together before heading their separate ways. But after some time and consideration― and after wallowing in the guilt of leaving home without much warning, all but abandoning his post in Mirkwood on Legolas’ part―they had decided that it would be wiser to go to their homes to sort out personal affairs first. 

Besides, postponing the trip only meant that they could then anticipate seeing one another again soon. Legolas especially liked the idea, as a part of him was worried that perhaps the dwarf would change his mind about their friendship, worried that as soon as they left one another with no promises or plans of seeing the other again, Gimli would remember the old feuds and retract his friendship. At least with the excursions to Fangorn and the Glittering Caves meant that the dwarf couldn’t back out just yet. It meant that, at least for a little while longer, Legolas could claim friendship in the dwarrow. 

Shaking his head of such gloomy thoughts, knowing he had enough to worry about, the young archer turned his focus ahead. To his home. To his father. 

A chill ran down Legolas’s spine at the thought of the Elvenking. Most beings in Middle Earth that had ever had an encounter with the King of Mirkwood were inclined to…not think well of him, to put it mildly. Even among the Eldar, the Elvenking was a…an acquired taste. Between his strong will and stubborn nature, the great feats he’d accomplished in his reign and his survival in this world, King Thranduil had become his own unique brand of authority. One that even elves found hard to swallow sometimes. 

Legolas, while growing up, had recognized that his father was powerful, but he had not truly comprehended the extent of that power. Being the only major elven ruler in Middle Earth without a Ring of Power meant that the Elvenking had been forced to use other means in order to protect his people. And the fact that the wood elves of the north fought not only to protect their homes, but also― for centuries― to keep the evils of the woods contained within the forest, proved that the Elf King was not weak. For nearly three thousand years his father had kept his people safe as well as ensuring that other beings in the world would largely remain unaffected by the evils that, until the end, spilled out of the south of the forest. Such a feat was hardly insignificant. 

But for all of his accomplishments in the world, over the centuries, one could hardly call the Elvenking humble. No, in fact, Legolas had come to learn that most beings did not like his father. Most saw him as arrogant; narcissistic even. The prince wasn’t sure how he felt about the accusations given that most of time, when it was just he and his father, Thranduil was nearly a completely different person. 

When with his son, King Thranduil was just…Thranduil. He would laugh and smile and hug his child just the same as any parent. His father was tender and warm, but cold and fierce when adorning the crown. He’d had to be. Mirkwood was wild, dangerous. In order to survive, to rule, one had to be just a little more savage than the woods themselves. 

And despite remembering the tenderness of a father, it was the wild king that Legolas feared now. By running off to join the Fellowship, the young archer had committed a very serious crime. He had abandoned his post and gone against the strict orders of his king. The consequences of such actions were severe, and with a shudder of guilt, the prince knew he would have to stand trial before the Elvenking. He had to pay for his crimes. The thought was utterly terrifying. How would the king react to the return of a deserter? 

It was a lovely day out, however, and the blond decided to focus on that. Having passed out of the desolate, destroyed area of the wood, the forest became quite lovely. The trees looked greener and bird calls could be heard in the distance. Despite so much pain and suffering, things were getting better. Life was getting better. There was so much hope now looking forward.

As he neared the palace, Legolas became captivated when he saw the green and golden banners of his father’s Hall lining the elven path. It had been centuries since last the banners had been placed out. Not since before Legolas had been born, actually. His mother had told him stories once about her first trip into the Greenwood. She had told him about riding under the boughs, marveling at the old posts and gates, the banners of the Elvenking marking a safe path to his Halls. But once the world darkened yet again, the elf path through the dense forest had been covered, masked. Statues that had not been destroyed were removed or hidden away, the path even more so. And of course, the banners were removed. People began to forget about the existence of the elves of Mirkwood save in legend and myth as the forest was slowly closed off to the wide world. 

The sight of them now, however, blowing gently in the breeze, filled the young elf with an unexpected swell of emotion. He felt pride, joy, relief, and other swirling things he wasn’t sure what to do with. He was simply overwhelmed at the sight, the knowledge that, after so long, after so many terrible hurts, his home was finally free of darkness. It could heal. It was healing. 

Ignoring the tears that stung his eyes, riding on, the young warrior relaxed slightly. If the banners were out it meant that the wary folk of the forest actually deemed it safe enough to have them placed for all to see. They did not expect enemies to follow the trail to the Elven Hall. They felt safe. The thought of the people’s apparent ease again filled the prince with a deep sense of wonder and delight. 

Deep verdant green, stitched with gold as bright as the sun, were the merry banners of the Elf King. Green for the forest. Gold for the stars. Even when under the trees, the gold gleamed brilliantly, happily rallying those who followed them on towards their goal. Cheering their prince home. 

Another twist of anxiety churned the young ellon’s stomach at the thought. He wanted to go home, yearned for it with all his being, yet he could not help the fear that gripped his heart. Home was safe and warm. Home was beautiful and familiar. Home was where his father was. But it was also where the Elvenking resided. 

A sigh escaped the prince yet again. There was nothing he wanted more to do than see his father again, but could admit to wanting to hold off seeing the king. As fair and just as his sovereign might be, the Elvenking was not above being swayed by his passions. As hard as the Elvenking tried to remain impartial, his temper often got in the way. If hurt or offended, one could not rightly anticipate the Elveking’s decisions or action. If he felt betrayed…Legolas didn’t want to think about what his punishment would be should the Elvenking deem the prince’s actions traitorous. The consequences were truly too horrendous for the young elf to bear. 

But bear it he would. There was simply no other choice. A year ago, while in Rivendell, Legolas had considered every possibility of the mission he would undertake. He’d thought of what he was risking, the real possibility that he would die. He’d thought about any suffering he’d likely undergo, of seeing others suffer, of losing friends, his own health. He had thought over his abandonment of his post as a Captain of Mirkwood, his willful dismissal of the Elvenking’s call to home. But most of all, he’d thought about his father. 

In the end, when all else was put aside, all Legolas had was his father. Ever since his mother had died when he’d been very young, all he’d ever known was the love of a father. All lessons, teachings, comfort, affection had come from his father. Despite his faults, Thranduil had always been there for his son, had always cared for him, helped him. If confused, the young elf sought his father’s council. If lost, he looked to his father for guidance. If frightened, hurt, Legolas ran into the waiting arms of his father’s warm embrace. 

And how had Legolas finally repaid all of his father’s love? By running away with little word or notice, to go out into the world, abandoning his responsibilities, his duty, his people, his father, for a suicide mission. He had betrayed Thranduil in almost every conceivable way. After all his father had done to protect and care for him, Legolas had spat on that gift and willingly walked away, turning his back on Thranduil’s care. It must have crushed his father. And it must have infuriated the Elvenking. 

Would he be welcomed back? Would his father forgive him? The Elvenking had punished severely for less. The law of the forest called for no favoritism. Even if he was the son of the king, Legolas held no illusions that he would walk way unpunished. His actions in abandoning his realm were severe, and it didn’t matter his cause. When he’d left, the young warrior had been absolutely certain that joining the Fellowship was of the greatest importance, that he was truly helping his people ― and all peoples―against the darkness. He still did. He did not regret joining the Fellowship. He did, however, regret leaving with the Fellowship the way he had. He regretted having to hurt the one person he loved above all others. 

But he was, if nothing else, raised a Prince of Mirkwood, and he would not run from his punishment. The least he could do for his people was step forward and accept the penalty for his crimes. He would face the Elvenking and the wrath to follow, perhaps explain his reasons for going, not offer excuses, and wait. Wait to hear the king’s verdict. With any luck, maybe the king wouldn’t banish him. Maybe he wouldn’t have to be cast out and completely shamed. 

His rather melancholy hopefulness was interrupted when several elves fell to the ground from the trees, blocking his path. The Elven Guard. In the back of his mind, Legolas had been wondering when he’d see them. He was both relieved and terrified at seeing them again. What did they think of him? 

When they straightened from their crouches, instantly, three pairs of dark eyes widened in surprise. “P-Prince Legolas!” one gasped. 

Legolas gave a shaky smile before thinking better of it and attempted to smooth his features into a relaxed, yet commanding expression. He knew he utterly failed, but pretended not to notice. “Captain,” he greeted as neutrally as possible. “All clear along the front?” A relatively obsolete greeting now, one born of war, but it was so engrained into the prince and the others, all knew they would be speaking it for years to come. 

“I-I…uh, yes, sir,” the captain nodded, eyes still wide, as if he were looking at one back from the dead. 

With a horrified jolt, Legolas wondered if they had indeed thought him dead. Did his father think he had gone to Mandos? Was the Elvenking, at that moment, writhing in the throes of agony, fading away, believing his only son had died? 

Feeling a new spark of panic, the young elf stared at his people and asked, tightly, “The Elvenking?” 

Perhaps sensing his desperation, the warrior responded quickly, “In the Halls. In court, I imagine.”

There was no way to keep the relief from his face, so Legolas didn’t even try. His emotions were everywhere and he didn’t― couldn’t― pretend he was at all calm anymore. So, with a shaky nod, he turned his eyes back up the path. He needed to get home. The urgency redoubled itself in his chest. There could be no more delay. 

As he gently redirected his mount back towards home, the guard walked along side him. “We’ll send someone ahead to announce you, hír nin.”

“No,” Legolas shook his head, his stomach twisting in knots. “I…I don’t wish to…create a large scene,” he admitted. “I must get to the Elvenking.”

“Aye, sir,” the warrior nodded. “But surely his highness would want―”

“Please,” Legolas couldn’t bring himself to look at the others. “I…I will go before him immediately. Please don’t…alert anyone.”

Had he been looking, the prince might have seen the surprise and concern on his friends’ faces. But as it was, he didn’t, and he was so anxious he did not notice the relief and joy they exuded when they’d seen him. His sole focus was on the Elvenking’s Halls. On his father. 

“Yes, my lord,” the warrior replied slowly. 

“Thank you,” Legolas answered quietly. And in his enhanced anxiety, decided he needed to get moving faster. “I must go. Farewell.” And with a gentle kick to his mount’s sides, he took off down the path. 

Quick as lightning Arod tore through the forest, a streak of grey against the background of green. Legolas held on tight, even urging the beast just a little bit faster if manageable. The closer they got, the more frantic Legolas became. The need to be home overwhelming. The need to see his father, to make sure he was well, consumed him. 

No one stopped his mad dash through the woods, and it was only when he came to the bridge, saw the great elven gates to enter his father’s kingdom, did the prince stop. He was quivering with nerves as he jumped from Arod’s back. He patted the horse, before whispering his eternal thanks. “Return to your own lands in the Riddimark if you wish,” he told him, before turning his entire attention to his home. 

The elven guard was everywhere now, and there were people out and about― in the trees, on the ground, on the bridge― but he didn’t stop for them. They stared, some called out to him, but Legolas didn’t hear. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his ears, feel his stomach knotting itself in worry. This was it, after all. The defining moment. Either all would be forgiven or it wouldn’t. He needed to apologize in any case. Hopefully one day his father would at least understand his actions.

Two elven guards took to leading him, and the prince didn’t protest. As they walked through the halls, gathering a lot of attention as went, Legolas began considering what he would do when before the Elvenking. Knowing King Thranduil liked to be shown respect and humility, Legolas decided he would need to bow down. He would get down on his hands and knees. Had he thought of it earlier, he would have taken to covering himself in ash to show complete and total repentance. But he had not thought of that, so he hoped bowing with his face to the floor would do. He would speak his story quickly, apologize and beg before listening to the Elvenking’s ruling. 

When they came across the bridge leading to the throne, Legolas held his breath. He could see his father now. The Elvenking sat upon his throne in all his majestic glory. The expression on the noble face was one of tight control. The king was displeased, perhaps annoyed, as he sat listening to a group of advisors. Legolas couldn’t quite think of a worse time to have interrupted, but it was too late now. 

In all his fear, the prince did not rightly comprehend his father’s full appearance. Had the young elf not been so nervous, he would have noted that under his father’s kingly anger sat a tiredness and sorrow that struck deep to the bone. Legolas did not see the dark bruises under the normally sharp blue eyes. Did not notice how pale and shallow the king’s face had become or comprehend the weight the ancient being had lost in the past year. 

As it was, Legolas saw only what he expected to see: The Elvenking, so cool and opposing on his throne, ready for judgment. And while seeing this, he hadn’t realized how much he was shaking before the guard spoke, causing the young ellon to flinch. 

“Hír nin,” the guard announced their presence. 

Instantly harsh blue eyes slid away from the advisors to settle on the new comers. Legolas momentarily froze under the frosty stare, feeling the intense orbs burning him alive. There was no escaping now. 

For a moment father and son merely stared at one another. As Legolas’ fear and sorrow burst forth for the entire court to see, the Elvenking’s face betrayed absolute shock. When before the court, his father never showed anything save absolute confidence, poise, or anger. Seeing him sit there, astonished at the presence of the prince finally pushed the younger elf into action. He couldn’t take it anymore. The guilt, shame, sorrow, and everything else was breaking his heart and he needed the relief of confession. 

So, pushing past everyone, coming before the throne, the prince fell to the floor, bowing as deeply as he could. “I-I’m sorry,” he blurted, face heating with embarrassed shame. “M-my actions, my abandonment of my p-post was inexcusable,” he pushed on, trying to control himself, to be the prince he was raised to be and not the terrified child he felt like. “I-I have no excuse. I only did what I’d thought best at the time, a-and I beg your forgiv―”

He never got to finish. 

Suddenly something grab him by his shoulders, pulling him up. Legolas momentarily panicked, tensing for attack, but was stunned when he found himself in a tight embrace. A hand was buried in his hair clutching almost painfully, while another was wrapped around his back, clinging desperately. It took nearly a full minute more before the young elf realized it was his father, down on his knees, face buried in his neck, trembling hard. Sobbing.

Utterly lost, unable to quite grasp what was happening, the prince sat on his knees, completely still, looking about, trying to make sense of what was going on. But as reality sunk in, as his father’s arms tightened impossibly tighter around him, the damn that the young elf had been fighting all day burst, and tears sprang from his eyes as he clutched his father closer, hugging him fiercely. 

The two did not notice the stunned guards or advisors or anyone else that might have been watching. Nor would they have much cared if they had. There was only the two of them, all the anxieties finally flowing out, the chains of worry dissolving while in each other’s embrace. And as they wept in utter relief against each other, Legolas couldn’t help but smile as he felt his father press a kiss to his face, knowing he had come home to his ever loving father.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Sequel –ish to The Mighty King of Mirkwood. Thinking of writing another short to finish everything off where Thranduil and Legolas actually talk about the journey with the Fellowship and the battle at Dol Guldur. Sound interesting?
> 
> And I’ve kept Legolas more bookish, while Thranduil is being portrayed more in movie!verse. I greatly despised that PJ set Legolas and Thranduil up against each other in the movie, and gave them a rather toxic relationship. I don’t think that’s the case. Even if Thranduil is a bit of an ass, I don’t see him being so hard or evil-ish to his son…So yeah. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
